Late August:
the air felt synthetic
and I, a candy-shelled husk of a girl
we both met two years ago,
reduced to pink prescription bliss
next to your fish oils
I peeled off my smile like duct tape
sticky, reluctant to let go
and vowed never to let it meet the sun’s rays,
or your pale face,
again
Two Days Later:
I mistake crying for laughter
all my dreams are invaded by you
sickening fingerprint smudged
reflections of you
hands-pressed-against-the-glass-is-this-really-what-I-look-like
reflections of you
I would like to say
my thoughts don’t snag on these dreams
when I wake
Late August:
closes with the immediacy
it entered with
